


Awfully pretty for a bodyguard

by deirdre_c



Category: CW Network RPF, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bodyguard, Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Bodyguard, Bottom Jared, M/M, Top Jensen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-30
Updated: 2014-12-30
Packaged: 2018-03-04 09:53:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3063434
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/deirdre_c/pseuds/deirdre_c
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jared's a famous movie star receiving online death threats. He needs to upgrade his protection services, and that's where Jensen comes in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Awfully pretty for a bodyguard

**Author's Note:**

  * For [akintay](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=akintay).



***

The ambush came when Jensen least expected it: on the exam table. It was Jensen’s orthopedic doctor, cornering him during what was supposed to be a routine checkup, asking Jensen for a favor on behalf of his little brother. Jensen contemplated a desperate dash for the door, but decided against it because, you know, bum knee.

“Look,” Jeff had said, “I know it’s a weird thing to ask. But your knee is looking great and you told me your consulting firm’s not busy right now, and, honestly? I’m starting to get really scared about Jared’s safety.” 

He’d given Jensen this puppy-dog look that is completely out of place on a 6’5’’ medical professional. “I’d happily pay for your flight and expenses and everything, if you’d just go out to L.A. for a couple of days and make sure he got enough protection from those anonymous creeps who keep posting about kidnapping and murder. I mean, it’s probably nothing, but…”

Jensen sat there thinking what a terrible idea this is. Of course, Jeff didn’t know the whole story. That Jensen “not being busy now” was the direct result of his business partner and best friend embezzling all of the money from their executive security firm—and from Jensen’s personal bank accounts as well—absconding to somewhere in another hemisphere with his lover, a woman high up on the CIA watch-list. Which meant Jensen was financially ruined and his federal security clearance was revoked until further notice. So “not busy” ultimately had meant him breaking his suddenly too-expensive condo lease and moving back to his parent’s house, where he watched the Food Network in his boxers while the world turned on without him.

And really, the last thing he wants to do is go babysit some spoiled celebrity asshole with a hit HBO show, three summer blockbusters under his belt, and more cash than sense. Even if he is Jeff’s kid brother.

But Jeff’s right about one thing. Jensen does need something to jolt him out of this rut. And it might take leaving Austin to do it.

“Okay,” Jensen had agreed finally. “But only for a few days.”

***

Jared’s address is located in the hills overlooking the city. Nothing sells for less than seven figures up here, or maybe eight, and Jensen takes in the manicured landscapes, glimpses of aquamarine pools and sleek rooflines hidden behind tastefully wrought fences and retaining walls as he follows the winding road upward.

Jensen’s surprised to find Jared’s driveway is one of the few ungated. _Jesus, this idiot does need some competent security._ He turns his rental car into the drive unimpeded, rolling to a stop in the wide formal curve that fronts the mansion, noting several other cars parked near the garage area. 

The house is modern, all glass and angles, fronted by a huge curved ornamental pool in onyx that’s bisected by a walkway to the front door. It looks like something out of a parody of high-end architecture, perhaps a drug kingpin’s house in a summer action movie. But then again, Jensen’s tastes tend to run toward La-Z-Boy recliners and neon beer signs, so what does he know?

Somebody comes around the side of the house and jogs up to Jensen, a basketball tucked under one arm. It’s fucking Jared Padalecki himself. 

“Can I help you?” he calls with an open smile on his face, even though Jensen could be anyone. He could be a random fan trespassing, could be someone here to hurt Jared in the long list of macabre, detailed ways that have appeared unsigned on several public websites and blogs in the the past few weeks. 

Jared stops in front of him, even taller in person than he appears on screen. The old Longhorns t-shirt and gym shorts he’s wearing make him look younger, less Hollywood than Jensen was expecting based on his mansion or his IMDB credits. But the shabby clothes do nothing to disguise the striking angles of his cheekbones and eyes, the width of his shoulders and the hard planes of his pecs, his slim hips and long legs. Jensen had figured a lot of Jared’s appeal was movie magic—makeup and stylists and camera angles—but he’s forced to revise that assumption in the face of Jared’s actual face. And hair. And body.

He’s the real deal.

However, Jensen has had plenty of practice during his time in the military in locking this kind of shit down tight, stuffing any attraction into his lizard hindbrain, not letting a glimmer of it show. He’s guarded heads-of-state, set up security systems for billionaires. Meeting some random, garden-variety movie star shouldn’t make his stomach swoop and clench. He’s a professional, dammit.

“I’m Jensen Ackles. Your brother asked me to consult with you on recent threats to your personal safety.”

“Hey, welcome,” Jared says, reaching out to shake. His huge hand engulfs Jensen’s, skin soft and warm, nails manicured. “I’m really sorry you had to come all this way. I’m afraid my brother may have, um, exaggerated any danger I might be in. It’s all good. I mean, I’m good. Safe. Really.” 

As he clutches the basketball to his stomach nervously, a flush of pink lights up his cheeks. This is definitely not what Jensen was expecting. Jared’s public persona is showy and brash, lots of clowning, lots of flirting. Celebrity gossips loved him even before he came out, and now that he’s the poster child for gay leading men, they track his every move, speculating on hookups and detailing how much he spends on bottle service at nightclubs. Nothing Jensen had read via his client research led him to anticipate low-key or bashful. Yet here’s Jared, practically dragging the toe of his shoe through the dirt.

Jensen replies to Jared’s words rather than his demeanor. “When your brother first asked me to provide you with my expertise, I did some research, watched some footage of you at public events, and there certainly were some red flags that stood out to me. I’d like to offer you some suggestions—”

Just then someone else comes out of the front door of the house. He’s a big bald guy, thick-necked, but not as tall as either him or Jared. Jensen instantly IDs him as Clif Kosterman, Jared’s current bodyguard. He’s one of the first problems on Jensen’s to-do list.

“Mr. Kosterman?” Jensen says as the man draws nearer, a bagel in one hand, staring down at his phone in the other. Pretty much his default position whenever he’s purportedly working, as far as Jensen’s been able to tell. Jared would be safer with a fucking trashcan guarding his six.

Kosterman glances up and then down at his screen again. “Yeah. Who’re you?”

“I’m a consultant hired by Mr. Padalecki’s family to help strengthen his security precautions in response to the recent credible threats he’s received. Based on evidence of your public job performance in a variety of settings, I’m going to recommend he terminate your service and hire a more responsible, diligent personal protection professional as soon as possible.” 

Jensen doesn’t bother looking at Kosterman while he makes this speech, but instead watches Jared’s reaction. There’s no instant rejection of the idea in Jared’s face or body language, no verbal protest; instead Jensen reads a sense of relief in the way Jared’s shoulders settle back, a distinct positive interest in the way Jared’s head cocks to the side. No one’s this noncommittal about a proposal to fire a good employee or friend.

Jensen decides to take it as a green light.

Kosterman’s either so dense or so distracted, or both, that it takes him a minute to comprehend what Jensen said. Once he does, he shoves the phone into his back pocket and starts to advance on Jensen, puffing out his chest. “Fuck you, buddy. I’m not going anywhere.”

Typical turdnugget, thinks just because he’s big, he’s tough. 

“Yes, you are,” Jensen replies calmly. He steps in, grabs Kosterman’s wrist and pulls, swinging him around off-balance and directing him with a sharp shove between the shoulder blades headlong into the shallow fountain behind them. He trips over the concrete lip and makes a satisfying splash. 

Jensen turns to Jared and, over the sound of swearing, briefly explains. “The guy’s been selling dirt on you to various tabloid journalists. Also, some of your used clothing on ebay. Also, he doesn’t seem to have the first clue about proper safety procedures in crowds, given what I’ve seen in public videos. You okay with this?” It’s going to be tricky to get this asshole off the property without Jared’s explicit sanction. 

But although Jared’s forehead wrinkles in dismay, he turns in time to catch Kosterman on his feet, stepping out of the fountain. “Clif,” he says firmly, “I appreciate all you’ve done for me over this past year, but I’m afraid it’s time to part ways. I’m happy to provide you with six month’s severance pay. Hopefully that’ll tide you over until you find a new position.”

“JPad, man, wait. Are you gonna listen to this asshole over me?” the guy whines, but Jensen isn’t going to give him time weasel his way out of this. 

He takes Kosterman by one wet shoulder, gripping dangerously hard when he tries to shake Jensen off, and starts him marching toward the parked cars. One is a hybrid Camry, hardly Kosterman’s type, but the 2009 Hummer looks like it belongs right up Douche Boulevard. Jensen opens the truck’s door and flips the driver’s side visor down, catching the keys as they drop. He hands them over. “Best of luck in the future.”

“Fuck off.”

Jared comes up to stand beside Jensen as they watch the Hummer’s taillights disappear down the drive. “That went way more easily than I would’ve expected,” he comments. 

“Well,” Jensen says, “Sometimes guys like him cave easy when someone doesn’t stand down from their bullshit.” 

“And other times?”

Jensen shrugs. “You do what you have to.”

“Huh.” Jared makes a show of looking him up and down. “I don’t know,” he says, a smile playing over his lips. “You’re awfully pretty for a bodyguard.” 

That’s a bit more like what Jensen had been expecting from this guy. He raises an eyebrow in mock-offense. “And you’re kinda gangly for a leading man,” he throws back. 

Jared tosses his head and laughs, and a deep dimple appearing in his cheek. Jensen suddenly gets why those dimples are famous in their own right. 

“So you want to have a look around the place?” Jared invites.

He leads the way into the house. Jensen notes unhappily the lack of cameras by the front door or in the foyer; the keypad for the alarm appears to be a simple four-digit code. 

The decor inside is gleaming and slick, lots of chromes and white marble, tastefully arranged groupings of settees in the living room and a long, mirrored bar built like a slab with twenty uncomfortable-looking blocks for stools. 

Jared must read something in Jensen’s demeanor, because he chuckles again. “It’s a little much, huh? My financial advisor persuaded me to buy it as an ‘investment’ and move out of my old condo.” He shrugs. “I like it for the view.” He takes Jensen through the guts of the house, where the water from the fountain out front flows right through, trickling softly along a yard-wide canal, until they step through a seamless door in the wall of glass that runs the back of the house and out onto the deck. There the canal waterfalls into an infinity pool that drops off into a panoramic view of downtown L.A.

Jensen whistles appreciatively. “Nice.”

“Yeah.”

They stand shoulder to shoulder taking in the vista for a minute before Jensen yanks his mind back to business and starts scoping the mansion’s exterior grounds for access points, blind spots. He suggests a trip around the perimeter, investigating the garage and other outbuildings, and as they walk he questions Jared about his daily routine, when he’s filming and when he’s home. 

But eventually Jared steers the conversation to other topics: Texas and football and fitness, dogs and craft beer. Jensen finds himself telling Jared more of his own backstory than he intended, more than he tells most clients, much less one he met just an hour before. But it’s nice somehow, this small talk. He never would have guessed he’d actually have things in common with a Hollywood celebrity, or want to find more of them. 

_It’s helpful to build a connection with the client that promotes feelings of trust and security,_ he assures himself. _Executive protection 101._

They head back inside to the kitchen, where he’s introduced to Lauren, a slender, middle-aged woman, who’s waiting to hand them both glasses of sparkling water. Jared tucks her under one arm with a squeeze and calls her “Alice” to his one-man Brady Bunch, which Jensen figures means she’s a cross between a housekeeper and a PA. 

“Are you staying for dinner, Mr. Ackles?” she asks.

“Jensen, please,” he replies. “And I’m not sure—“ He glances at Jared, who’s doing that head-tilting thing again, and it really needs to be less charming. The switch to eager nodding and grinning isn’t any better.

“That would be awesome!” Jared gushes. “I mean, it would be great if you ate here. Or, even, maybe… How long are you in town?” 

“I’ve got a hotel down in Burbank for the week. I figure, if you’d like, I can help you get set up with some more effective security equipment and maybe help screen and engage a new bodyguard by Friday or Saturday.”

“Then why don’t you just stay here? I’ve got plenty of rooms, obviously.”

Jensen’s first thought is about the money he’d save, but then figures he’ll just be refunding it to Jeff. His second thought is how it wouldn’t be bad for Jared to have some on-site protection until Jensen could get him settled properly. There’s a third little flittering doubt about whether it’s a good idea to put himself in such close proximity to Jared at all, but Jensen quickly shoots that one down and buries it. 

“As long as I won’t be a bother.” 

“Nope,” Jared says brightly. “No bother at all. Right, Lauren?”

“Right, honey,” she says, patting him on the arm. “It does make me feel better seeing you take your safety more seriously.”

Jared looks down, starts fiddling with some cutlery on the counter, lining up the forks. “Yeah,” he says, some of his brightness dimmed, “Gotta stay safe.”

And at that moment, Jensen resolves to make Jared’s place so secure that mosquitoes will be afraid to bite.

***

Later that night, Jensen rolls over, suddenly wide awake. He checks the clock on the nightstand, where a faint 2:52 a.m. hovers there in the darkness. Damn. He knows this feeling, knows he’s not going back to sleep. He throws the sheets of exquisite thread-count back and tosses on some clothes. Might as well do a reconnaissance sweep, see if all’s quiet.

The hall upstairs is dark, the other guest room doors all still shut. Using his phone as a flashlight, he heads down the back staircase and through the kitchen, double-checking windows and door locks. Halfway across the first floor, past the master suite, he spies a bluish light glowing from underneath the door to the home theater. 

Jensen swings it open to find Jared alone inside, sprawled in one of the leather lounge chairs. Jackie Chan is jumping around on the screen. Looks like it’s one of his early Hong Kong movies, brightly colored and badly dubbed. 

Jared looks over at him, bleary-eyed and tousled. He’s in a tee and sweats, his bare feet propped up on the seat back in front of him. Seeing him like this does things to Jensen’s insides that he refuses to examine too closely.

“I don’t mean to intrude,” Jensen offers, as if he’d thought twice about coming in. “Everything alright?” 

Jared sits upright, running a hand quickly through his hair and smoothing down his shirt. He gives a little wave and turns the volume down. “Sorry. I get insomnia sometimes.” 

“Nothing to be sorry about. It’s not like you would’ve woken me all the way down here.” Jensen would like to think Jared’s moving about the house did wake him somehow, sixth-sense. But now that Jensen’s checked on him, he should probably move along. 

He lingers in the doorway instead. “To tell you the truth, I was expecting a party.” 

Jared snorts. “Not much of a partier, to be honest. Seen it take too many people down a bad road.” He glances at the screen and back at Jensen. “Wanna watch?”

“Sure,” Jensen says, letting the door swing shut behind him and taking a seat near to Jared, but separated by a low table. 

“My first break was on _Occupational Therapy_ ,” Jared says, non sequitur. “You ever see that show?”

“Of course.” It was only one of the biggest network comedies of the last decade, the viewing public heartbroken when it ended after a five-year run. 

“Man, I loved doing physical comedy. Being the skinny, clumsy sidekick.” On screen, Jackie mugs for the camera as he climbs a wall and flips a flowerpot into a bad guy’s face with his foot before falling backward through a window. “Don’t get me wrong, action and drama are fantastic. Leading roles pay well. But I miss comedy.”

Jensen simply nods, picturing Jared as that dorky office gopher he’d played, before he filled out, bulked up, became an above-the-title heartthrob. 

They watch in silence for a while. Then Jared, eyes still on the screen, says, “I noticed the webpage for your company was defunct. Called around a little, people told me you actually closed the business down. What’s that all about?”

Jensen sighs. He figured this would come up at some point. Jared’s the first new client he’s had to explain things to. And at least it’s a good sign that Jared’s doing some homework when it comes to verifying credentials. 

“Long story short, my partner, Tom, cleaned me out and fled the country in the company of a very sketchy persona-non-grata. He and I, we did a lot of work for embassy staff, foreign dignitaries. Looks like it’s going to take me longer than I thought to clear my name, prove I’m not implicated in Tom’s mess. Plus, clients paying handsomely for top-line security don’t look too favorably on a guy who gets his whole life stolen out from under him, you know?”

Jared nods, sinking deeper into his chair. He’s quiet again for a second and then, “You miss him?”

The question blindsides Jensen. He’d been prepared for questions about what happened, not about what he felt. His heart stings at the unexpected poke to the still-unhealed wound of Tom’s betrayal.

“We’d been friends since the Naval Academy,” Jensen replies, keeping his voice level with surprising effort. He must be more tired than he realized. “Kept in touch through that first duty assignment—me with the Tenth Fleet, him as a combat Marine with the 2/5 battalion out of Pendleton. Both of us got out as soon as we’d served our commitment time. Our security firm, WA International, had been our thing for the past six or seven years.” Jensen lets that précis speak for itself. Jackie gets pulled along behind a truck.

“Were you a couple?”

“No,” Jensen says shortly. Whatever Jensen had felt for him, Tom was—is—straight. Coming out to him a few years ago had introduced all kinds of tension between them. Jensen figures there’s no reason to open up that can of worms with Jared, even if Jared himself came out on a stage miles wider. It’s common knowledge in the business that clients under protection often project romantic relationships onto their bodyguards. 

_And vice versa. Executive protection 101._. 

“I’m sorry that happened to you.” 

And Jensen thinks perhaps Jared’s the first person who’s actually expressed simple condolences rather than offering advice or recriminations or whatever. “Thanks.”

He slips out of the room right before the movie ends.

***

They meet up again at breakfast. Jared fixes himself oatmeal and scrambled egg whites and spinach along with a protein shake, which he explains is standard breakfast during filming season.

“I figured someone like you would have minions to take care of this,” Jensen says.

Jared holds out the spatula invitingly like Jensen just volunteered, then turns back to the stove. “I leave all the dishes for Lauren when she comes in later. Does that count?”

“Barely,” Jensen replies, looking skeptically at the giant stainless-steel espresso maker on the counter with more controls than a nuclear reactor. He decides to search the cupboards and manages to unearth a French press and some grounds. Score one for the little guy.

They settle themselves across the breakfast bar from each other. Jared reaches out and swipes Jensen’s mug. “I skip caffeine during the season, my sleep’s messed up enough as it is, but I really miss it.” He takes a sip and screws up his face. “Damn. This shit you drink is rough!” 

“Then give it back,” Jensen snaps, because, client or no, this is his morning coffee at issue.

Jared uses his index finger to slide the cup cautiously across the table, like he’s afraid Jensen’s gonna bite it off if he gets too close, the little smartass.

He watches Jared sprinkle a mere hint of brown sugar on his cereal and start shoveling it into his mouth. Jensen lets himself imagine having breakfast like this every morning: Jared’s hair still mussed from rolling out of bed, Jensen doctoring coffee for him however sweet he likes it, the California sun pouring in the windows. But he doesn’t let himself imagine leaning over to kiss the taste of sugar off of Jared’s lips, his foot slipped in between Jared’s under the table. Because that would be stupid, wouldn’t it? 

Too bad Jensen’s already proven he’s just as stupid as the next guy.

“I’ll be heading to the weight room downstairs after this. Usually spend a couple hours in the morning down there nowadays,” Jared says. “You wanna come work out with me for a bit? I picture you as a treadmill type, or maybe the punching bag.”

“Sorry, Boss. Some of us have real work to do.”

“Fine, be that way. All productive and diligent and—and whatever.“ He waves his hand dismissively. “But if you’d ever lifted with me, you’d know what real work is.” 

“Dwayne Johnson, eat your heart out,” Jensen teases.

“Bite your tongue, that man is like a god to me.”

***

Jensen is in the great room at the front of the house, sketching plans, writing out a list of equipment he needs to order for the surveillance system he’s configuring, calculating where to place automated motion and light sensors outside, integrating centralized control of door locks and two-way audio/video capabilities at key vantage points inside. Once he has everything set up, a stray cat won’t make it onto the grounds without warning, much less a human intruder.

But just as he’s feeling self-satisfied, out of the corner of his eye he sees a flash of movement through the window, a figure outside where none should be. He’s on his feet and halfway to the door, gun in hand, before his brain catches up and he realizes it’s just Jared, dressed in his costume from his space pirate blockbuster from last year. He’s got his badass leather duster, hair slicked back, blasters on each hip, the whole works. 

Drawing in a calming breath, Jensen slips his gun back into its shoulder holster under his jacket.

He trots to catch up, reaching Jared just as he’s unlocking the black Range Rover that’s parked in the garage. “You know Halloween is two months from now, right?”

Jared jumps slightly, but then grins. “Got an appointment at Children’s Hospital Los Angeles at 11 o’clock. My publicist, Aldis, sets up meet-and-greets every couple of weeks so the kids can hang out with the Lost Prince of Gamma Orion.” He gestures at his get-up, then strikes a heroic pose.

“The Children’s Hospital. On your day off. Are you even real?”

Jared pinches himself, hard. “Ouch.” He looks up at Jensen, his nose wrinkled. “Guess so.”

God, he’s sickeningly cute. Jensen keeps a straight face only by the barest of fractions. “And you were just going to drive on out of here? By yourself.”

“Well, Clif usually drove me places. And I figured you were busy. Plus, I’m pretty sure chauffer’s not in your current job description, so—“ 

“Don’t be an idiot. Give me the keys. Get in the car.” Jensen snaps orders, because if he doesn’t, he’s likely to say something sappy instead, something about _I’ll go anywhere you go_ or possibly _will you marry me?_

Jensen gets behind the wheel and Jared heads around to the other side of the car. Jensen raises an eyebrow when he plops himself into to the front passenger seat.

“Hey, Hollywood. Aren’t you supposed to…” he tilts his head toward the back.

“Nope,” Jared replies. “I don’t like sitting in the backseat by myself like a douchebag.” He fumbles around in the center console and comes up with a pair of aviator sunglasses, completely incongruous with the costume. “But if you want to drive me around on my next hot date, I can buy you a little hat.”

“Shut up,” Jensen says, trying not to grin. But then the idea of Jared out on a date sinks in and it’s a little less funny. Because of course Jared dates. A lot. The tabloids are full of pictures, every guy he’s seen with in public. Jensen has to remind himself he’s not planning to be here long enough to worry about it. 

As they approach the entrance to the hospital, there are various paparazzi and press already buzzing around. The back of Jensen’s neck prickles at the unsecured crowd, no telling if any stalkers or attackers might be lurking in the throng. 

“Stay put for a second,” he murmurs to Jared. He pulls up to the valet parking and throws the keys to the attendant, hurrying around the front to open the car door and sticking himself to Jared’s side as they make their way through the gauntlet. Jared jauntily waves and calls out to photographers by name. Jensen scans the faces for signs of imminent danger. It’s been awhile since Jensen played bodyguard-on-the-scene as opposed to simply coordinating the security detail from afar. His adrenaline runs high until they clear the doors. 

Inside, they’re greeted by Jared’s publicist, who looks to Jensen like a cross between a football wide receiver and a costume designer. He’s sporting an ultra-skinny suit and glasses with thick, bright red frames. Aldis gives Jensen a quick once-over in return, then ushers them up the elevator and hands Jared over to the hospital staff.

Jensen posts himself next to the door of the pediatric ward playroom, and leans against the wall, arms folded across his chest. His concerns about security are relatively low around a bunch of preteens doing chemo. He watches as Jared bends down to kid-level, handing out toys, answering eager questions about his character, sitting cross-legged on the floor to carefully examine one shy little bald boy’s artwork of him at the controls of his starship, the _Ganymede_. 

Aldis strolls over to stand next to Jensen. “After the first couple of times, he asked me to make sure he had a few minutes with the children before the media came in for photo ops.”

Jensen just nods. At this point Jared could be curing their illnesses with a laying-on of hands, and he wouldn’t be surprised. “Maybe next time, announce the event as starting an hour later, that way you can get Jared into the hospital first before the crowd forms out front. His bodyguard might have an easier time that way.” The bodyguard Jensen needs to find and hire in the next few days. “If that works for you and your process.”

It’s Aldis’s turn to nod. “Good suggestion. Thanks.”

The photographers come up soon after that, snapping pictures of Jared with the kids as he signs autographs and reads a story to a bedridden seven-year-old in a pink nightgown. As they’re wrapping up, Jensen calls down to the valet station and has them pull the Range Rover around so that it’s waiting for them when they come down. There’s still a bit of a crowd outside, die-hard fans waiting for a glimpse of Jared again. 

“Autographs?” he asks Jensen, but doesn’t wait for the go-ahead before starting to make his way down the line. Jensen grinds his teeth and positions himself just ahead, inspecting each person briefly, angling between each one and Jared as much as possible. Finally they reach the truck and Jensen opens the door to let Jared slip inside.

As Jensen pulls away from the curb, Jared looks at him, his eyes alight. “Wasn’t that fun?”

“Yeah,” Jensen says, feeling a trickle of sweat run down his spine. “Real fun.”

“Don’t be such a grouch.”

“You’re still alive? I got nothin’ to be grouchy about,” Jensen mutters brusquely.

Jared huffs in response and turns his gaze out the car window. “So, what do you think they’d say if I showed up at the McDonald’s drive-thru?” He tugs at one of the golden bandoleers that criss-cross his chest.

“I’d think they’d ask if you want fries with that.” Then he smiles and Jared grins back. All Jensen’s residual grouchiness melts away.

“Let’s just head home,” Jared proposes.

“Sounds like a plan.”

***

The next morning Jensen drags himself out of bed at the asscrack of dawn to drive Jared to the set for the first day of filming that week’s episode of _L.A. Classified_. He hears Jared still clattering around in the weight room—and, fuck, how early did _he_ get up to fit in a workout first?—so Jensen hits the kitchen first for some coffee before grabbing a quick shower. While he’s waiting for Jared to finish getting ready, he checks his email, and finds that two dozen or more alerts for news of “Jared Padalecki” are burning up his inbox. New anon threats popped up on the Internet overnight.

Jensen quickly clicks the links, and although the online comments themselves have been taken down, it’s not too difficult to find screenshots. This new bunch is more specific than the ones from two weeks ago. They offer details like where Jared’s trailer is on the current set, what the Range Rover and Jared’s other cars look like. They include some pretty graphic plans for dismemberment and defiling of Jared’s corpse, but Jensen skims over those quickly.

When Jared comes downstairs to leave, Jensen can tell he’s already seen them. 

“Aldis and my agent will handle the PR. They’ll send out a boilerplate ‘no comment’ press release about them, file some grievances with the relevant websites,” is all he says as he gets into the silver Audi Jensen’s already got pulled around front. They drive along in silence for a few miles. 

“Once I get you to work,” Jensen offers, “I’m going to get on the phone with some contacts I have at the FBI, find out if they’ve opened a case on this yet, or if not, if they’re willing to.” 

“Thanks.” 

“The odds are extremely likely that this is nothing, some idiot spouting off with no intention of taking any action.”

“I know. Believe me, I know,” Jared responds. And, truth to tell, he doesn’t seem all that worked up. Jensen’s picking up more of an irritated vibe than a scared one off of him. Which is good. No need for Jared to be worried over this, that’s what Jensen’s getting paid for.

The security guy on duty at the studio lot where they’re shooting interiors that week raises the barrier gate and waves the Audi through when they spot Jared. Jensen makes a note to have a word with them about stopping _every_ vehicle. He parks and escorts Jared to the door of his trailer. 

Jared pauses on the stairs. “It’s a closed set, Jensen. You don’t have to wait around. The call for today goes all the way until 5pm. Sometimes we run later.” 

Jensen checks his watch. “I’ll stick around a few minutes, I think. Just to have a look around.”

“Okay, but wait a sec.” Jared calls over a PA and asks her to get Jensen an ID badge so he won’t get challenged as he snoops around. Jensen’s pretty sure Jared’s got a lot to do—wardrobe and hair and other random actor stuff—before he’ll be shooting any scenes, so he figures he has some time to scope the area out, make sure nothing and nobody sets off any of his alarms.

The set appears peril-free, and it’s only about forty-five minutes later that he wanders back to the trailer to let Jared know, if he’s there, that he’s heading back to the house to continue to work on the security system there.

He stumbles upon Jared, now dressed in period suit and tie, standing in the narrow throughway between the wardrobe trailer and some other outbuilding. He’s hunched over his cell, voice pitched low.

“And I’m telling you,” Jensen overhears him growl, “you don’t work for me anymore. So stop. Now.” 

Jared doesn’t notice him, so Jensen backs away silently. Obviously Jared’s on the phone with Clif, obviously tying up some loose ends. There’s no need for Jensen to intrude on that. 

He might ask Jared about it later that evening on the way home. If he remembers to.

***

Jensen’s been here more than a week already, but the security system isn’t exactly where he wants it to be. Still need some cameras installed in the backyard areas and at some strategic points in the house. If Jensen’s honest, he hasn’t been working as efficiently on it as he should. He could have been done yesterday morning, or earlier, if he’d agreed to hire some random tech guys like Jared had offered, but Jensen didn’t really want any strangers to be overly-familiar with the system. Lauren? Yes. Garth from the local Home Depot (or whatever the high-end Beverly Hills version of Home Depot is)? No.

There haven’t been any fresh threat vectors lately, but that doesn’t mean that no one’s out there lurking, waiting for Jared to let his guard down. Jensen gets up and goes to grab the ladder and his gear. 

Jared finds him testing the pivot on the camera mounted near the pool deck. “How’s it coming?” he asks, staring up at Jensen’s work. 

Jensen hopes he doesn’t approach much closer, given the frightening proximity of Jensen’s groin and Jared’s mouth at this height. “Good. And hey, I’m looking at candidates for the personal protection position, but I haven’t set up any interviews yet.”

Okay. Jared’s quiet for a moment, then says, “There’s no rush, right? I mean, you haven’t lined up something new for yourself?”

“No. Not really.”

“Because the next couple days of shooting are going to be a bitch, and I’m not sure when I’ll have time to meet with prospects, you know? Any chance—“ he pauses, wandering over to the side of the pool to stare down into it. “—any chance you’d stay on for a bit longer?”

Jensen looks over, but Jared’s got his back to him, and while it’s a nice view, especially in that particular pair of jeans, Jensen can’t get a sense of what’s going on in Jared’s head. He’s taken over covering Jensen’s paycheck from Jeff and, with that plus room and board, Jensen’s already socked some cushion funds away. But as long as Jared wants him here—needs him here—he figures there’s no rush to get back to Texas, or D.C., or whatever comes next. 

Jensen hasn’t been spending a lot of time planning for the future. 

That probably should worry him.

“How can I say ‘no’ to you, Hollywood?” he tells Jared, as much to see his posture relax and his face brighten as anything else.

***

They’re sitting out by the infinity pool after the end of that brutal week of shooting, Jared and Danneel and Julian and many of the other cast members having worked 16- and 17-hour days. The sky is the deep purple of fresh bruises, and the lights of L.A. swim in the valley below. Jared’s got a bottle of very expensive Cabernet propped between his legs, half gone, and Jensen watches out the corner of his eye as he sips at the glassful in his hand, a gentle summer breeze tugging at strands of his hair.

They chat for a while, about one dumb extra who kept missing his mark and blowing the shot, about last week’s ratings and the almighty demographics, about NFL preseason and the Cowboy’s pitiful defensive line, until there’s a lull in the conversation. "So,” Jensen asks off the top of his head. "Do you think you could go back? Back to cheap wine and low-rent real estate?"

"Have you heard some bad news from my financial planner? Is he pulling a Tom?" He settles deeper in the soft cushion of the patio furniture, must be well on his way to drunk if he’s making light of Jensen’s past.

"No, just a theoretical question," Jensen replies. The realization had struck him, just now. When Jensen had lost the company, when all his wealth vanished, he’d shut down. It felt like his world had ended. But now he sees that it hadn’t. Coming out here, meeting Jared, doing a simple job right. It feels like there’s a future again. "I mean, you’ve got more than most people could ever dream of. Would you miss it? The home gym, the big screen, the house, the cars, the watches that cost as much as a small island… do you _need_ it?"

He doesn’t hesitate a second. “Yes.” 

Jensen snorts, taken a bit aback at Jared’s assertion. He’d figured, if anything, Jared would dismiss a lot of extraneous material things. “Really?” he says.

“Yeah,” Jared says, turning his head to gaze at Jensen with glassy eyes. “Because if I didn’t have all this, you wouldn’t be here.” The low splash of the running water and music of crickets and cicadas out in the yard swells in the silence that follows.

Jensen’s heart jumps and stutters like a flat tire on the highway. “Oh,” is all he comes up with.

Lines crease Jared’s forehead as his brain catches up with his mouth. "No. I mean, sorry. That came out weird, didn’t it? I didn’t—It’s not—" He gives up, lets his head thunk against the seatback. 

“Forget it. It was a stupid question anyway.”

“All I’m saying is… I’m just glad you’re here. Makes me feel a lot safer.” He says it with his eyes closed, talking toward the sky, and to Jensen it sounds a little flat. Not like Jared’s normal tone. 

“Safer. Good. That’s good.” Jensen heaves himself up from his chair. “Speaking of which, I’m going to go in and lock everything down for the night.”

“Okay,” Jared says simply.

“Okay,” Jensen echoes. He exits through the glass door and leaves Jared alone in the dark. He doesn’t like it, feels too exposed. But Jensen needed to get some distance, to check himself. He needs to stop misinterpreting innocent statements, projecting stuff that’s not there. 

There’s a fifty-fifty chance he’ll be back out there in an hour or so and wake Jared up, anyway, and make sure he gets up to his room. Safely.

***

A couple days later, Jensen’s still fiddling with the new cameras display, making sure they’re all connected and aimed correctly. He’s got a bank of screens tucked into an upright in the office and he’s pretty happy with how it’s turned out. When he hears the alert for the new front gate’s intercom and Jared answering it, he mentally pats himself on the back. Front access secure? Check.

He hears Jared open the front door, so he stands and goes out to join him, because even if Jared buzzed the visitor in, it still pays to be cautious. He hadn’t mentioned any guests at breakfast.

A car comes around. A man with close-cut hair and a goatee gets out dressed in a tight-fitting tank and bike shorts that show off his athletic build. Not much chance he’s hiding a weapon.

“Malik,” Jared calls, raising a hand. “Good to see you!”

The guy jogs over. “Jensen, this is my yoga instructor—no _guru_ —Malik Whitfield. Malik, Jensen Ackles.” They shake.

Jared turns to him. “We’ll be in the gym. At least an hour. Okay?”

“Sure.” Like Jared needs his permission or anything.

Jensen hangs back slightly, follows as the two of them walk into the house, and Jensen’s hackles raise slightly when Malik puts his hand on Jared’s back, oh-so-companionably, as they walk down the stairs. It suddenly occurs to him that maybe this isn’t yoga, or only yoga. Maybe it’s a booty call. Jared hasn’t hooked up with anyone since Jensen arrived two weeks ago, which seems strange given his reputation for being a bit of a playboy. Of course, Jared hasn’t been at all what Jensen assumed he’d be from media reports, but seriously. He’s one of the hottest guys on the planet and it’s a shame if he’s _not_ getting laid on the regular. 

Even as Jensen blithely thinks that to himself, he frowns. He shouldn’t be concerned with Jared’s sex life, unless it impacts his security somehow. It’s none of his business. None at all.

Jensen strides back to the office and throws himself into his chair. He fiddles with the external camera displays for a few more minutes, has to walk out by the east fence to adjust the angle on that one, before coming back inside and turning his attention to the few positioned inside the house. 

It’s then he remembers that he had one installed in the gym itself.

And, fuck. The temptation is so strong. His hand hovers over the control keyboard. If he turns that particular camera on, it would just be part of his routine check. Not so he can spy on Jared and his guest. 

Scruples war with curiosity. It’s never been a question before, for other clients. Ever. But there’s something about Jared that has wormed itself into his brain, slipped beneath all of his defenses. So far he’s been clinging to his normal standards of conduct on the job with a white-knuckled fist, and he knows this kind of personal intrusion is the first step to completely losing his grip. 

_Leave it the fuck alone. There’s zero there you need to see._

He presses the button to activate the gym camera.

There’s nothing questionable going on. Nothing at all intimate. Jared and Malik are several yards apart, both facing the set of mirrors that line one wall, exercising.

Yet although Jensen has satisfied his little itch, he doesn’t look away. Because Jared is poised there, arms up, palms touching, right leg sweeping back to a deep, graceful lunge. Up and shift. Like a slow dance. The long line from his ankle to hand visual poetry. Held for long breaths, the skin on his chest and shoulders glistening with sweat. Sinking to the floor, on his back, palms against the mat. He raises his hips and Jensen can’t breathe, can’t blink, tracing the strong lines of his body, the perfect arc of his spine. Another pose, he’s curling his long, long legs up to his chest, extending them back over his head, control, slow, bent in half, his toes reach for the floor behind his head.

Jensen punches at the off button, swearing, his entire body flushed, his cock a hard, insistent throb pressing painfully against his fly. 

He rushes up the stairs to his room, into his bathroom, locking the door and shoving his jeans down around his thighs. He spits into his palm and wraps the hand around himself with a gasp of relief, his dick heavy, leaking. 

He jacks himself. An image of Jared appears on the back of Jensen’s eyelids. Jared, sweaty and limp, sprawled wantonly on the gym floor, hair fanned out, legs spread wide and Malik above him, but then Malik fades away and it’s Jensen there with his hands on Jared’s thighs, pressing them even wider, lifting Jared’s knee onto his shoulder, open to him, Jared’s head thrown back in ecstasy as Jensen grinds down into…

Jensen groans as he comes, liquid heat shooting down his spine, up from his balls, his legs shaking, his cock bucking in his hand as it pumps out come, sticky and thick into the sink. 

“Oh hell,” he says aloud, shivering and leaning forward so that his head rests against the cool surface of the mirror. This is bad. This is really bad. 

He washes up, tucks himself away and straightens his clothes, examining himself for signs of, well, of just having busted a nut like a teenager looking up a cheerleader’s skirt. 

He stares hard at his image in the mirror. _Tomorrow,_ he vows, _tomorrow you find a new bodyguard and get the hell out of Jared’s life._

***

But fate conspires against him. It turns out the Primetime Emmy Awards are in just a few days. Jared wasn’t nominated, but _L.A. Classified_ was in a number of categories. Supposedly it’s a huge deal for their first season. He’d heard random mentions of it when on the set with Jared, but hadn’t realized the award show’s date was approaching so quickly. So it takes him by surprise when that evening he finds a garment bag draped across his bed with a tuxedo in it just his size.

“Armani,” Jared announces as he strides into the room. “Do you like it?”

“What? Why do I need this? I’m not going as your date, am I?” He pitches is like a joke, but there’s a little corner of his heart—not even as big as a corner, more of a nook, perhaps a cranny—that suffers a useless flutter of hope.

“Ha. No,” Jared replies, dropping down onto the edge of the mattress. “Danneel and I are officially going together. We made plans when the nominations came out back in June. Costars do that a lot. It’s an easy way to avoid gossip or having to worry about a real date under pressure.” 

“And what does she think about the latest comments from your charming fan?” Jensen asks. After several new death threats had popped up just yesterday, the police told Jared that, based on their analysis, they believe they’ve all come from one source.

“She says she’s not worried.” Jared looks aside. “But I want you to come anyway. Just in case.”

Jensen glances down at the tux. It’s gorgeous. And he hasn’t had an excuse to dress up for a long time. He runs a finger down the smooth black fabric of the lapel, then shrugs. “Okay. You’re the boss.”

The actual day is mostly a blur: a dozen people bustle around the house all morning, Jared’s stylists and his agent, Lauren, and some random guy named Chad that Jensen never figured out whose purpose was. Then there’s the long wait in the limo, Jared and Danneel’s moment on the red carpet, the ceremony itself, the log-jam of departing celebrities after the show. 

Jensen doesn’t have much to do. The security staff at the Nokia Theater is top-notch, which not only allows Jensen’s anxiety subside for a bit, but gives him a chance to talk shop with some of their team during down-times between presentations. It’s great, and he realizes how much he’s missed being part of a corps of professionals. 

But he never really lets his guard down, which is how, as Jared and Danneel exit the limo and walk toward the front entrance of the club where the studio’s after-party is being held, Jensen’s able to spot the assailant rushing at Jared with a blade.

Fortunately, Jensen’s right there, and the guy doesn’t get within three feet of his target before Jensen’s hand comes slicing down on his wrist, disarming him, kicking his feet out from under him and taking him face-down to the ground with a knee in his back. Jared and Danneel and the rest of the crowd milling around the venue don’t even realize something’s happening until it’s over. 

Unfortunately, that’s also when Jensen sees that what he thought was a knife that the guy had been carrying was actually a fake. A toy copy of the trademark machete that Jared’s character wielded in _When the World's Burned_. 

Jensen grabs the guy, just a kid really, by the back of the shirt and hauls him to his feet, both of them apologizing simultaneously, their you-okays and my-faults and misunderstandings and didn’t-mean-tos jumbling together. Jensen can hear the click of cameras as the photographers waiting for celebrity pics hit jackpot. 

One arm still around the hapless fan, Jensen calls over his head to Jared, “Go ahead on inside.”

But Jared says, “Just a second.” He scoops up the kid’s prop knife from where it had skittered across the pavement and brings it over to him, handing it back. “You got a phone, man?”

Jared poses for a few selfies with the guy and signs the plastic blade for him, _Sorry for the takedown, Osric. Your friend, Jared._ Then they hand him off to one of the studio’s people who smooth over this kind of thing, and he and Jared finally make their way into the club.

Once inside, Jensen picks a central location from which he can scan the whole room and puts his back to the wall, waiting for Jared to start working the crowd. But Jared simply heads over to the bar to order a drink, perching himself on a stool with his back to the rest of the party. Various people, cast and crew and execs, wander over his way to chat and catch up, but Jared doesn’t move, doesn’t seem as social as he usually does at this kind of thing, and Jensen wonders if the encounter outside shook him. 

The later it gets, the lower Jared’s shoulders slump over his glass. Finally, Jensen can’t take it anymore. He winds his way through the clusters of partygoers and slips onto the seat next to Jared’s.

“So, what’s wrong?”

Jared doesn’t look up. “I need to talk to you,” he says quietly.

“Okay,” Jensen says, putting on his game face. Sounds like he’s about to get fired for that little miscalculation. It seems to him like an extreme reaction on Jared’s part, but Jensen’s seen people react worse to false alarms. 

“There’s no stalker, Jensen.” 

“What?”

Jared takes a deep breath and then a flood of words comes rushing out. “All those threats on the Internet? All those posted comments about me? They’re all fake. It’s was Clif’s idea, kind of a publicity stunt, to generate attention, sympathy, excitement. Shit, I’m not blaming him, I fucking agreed to it, all of it. And it all seemed pretty harmless, but then you showed up. And—“ Jared’s voice cracks slightly, but he plows on. “—and I knew you’d leave if you thought there was no legitimate danger. So I let you think it was all real. And, god, I’m so sorry. I know how much you hurt when Tom betrayed you, and I swear, I’m not like him. I would never intentionally cause you any pain. Because I—fuck, Jensen, I fell for you, from that very first day you showed up at my house. But I didn’t tell you the truth. And I did it for selfish reasons. I just wanted you to stay. And there’s no excuse for that.” 

Jensen feels like he’s been clubbed in the back of the head. His hands are numb and his mind blank. It doesn’t make any sense.

Now Jared’s looking him in the eye, looking at him like he’s trying to memorize his features. He says it again, “I’m sorry.”

When Jensen still doesn’t respond, Jared gets up, slow, like an old man, and walks to the back of the club into the dim-lit hall that leads to the restrooms. Jensen grips the edge of the bar. What will he say when Jared returns? That he doesn’t care? That as long as Jared’s safe, all is forgiven? That he’s fallen for Jared, too? That he’s glad Jared had lied if it meant they had all this time together? He can’t. He shouldn’t. But he might. 

He doesn’t know how long he sits there until wheels begin to grind into motion in his brain. Jared hasn’t come back, not to the bar, not to anywhere else in the crowd. Jensen would know if he had. There’s a familiar prickling at the back of his skull that makes him get up and head in the direction Jared took. There’s a door at the end of the hall, the EXIT sign glowing dull and red like poison.

He turns back and hurries through the crowded room, finds Aldis, his arm around a pony-tailed blonde. “I’ve lost track of Jared,” Jensen barks at him. “If you see him in here, call me immediately, okay?” 

He doesn’t have time for Aldis’s answer, just barrels back toward that rear exit and punches out the door. The alleyway behind the bar is quiet, muted traffic noises from the street beyond. Jensen jogs to the head of it and glances both directions for a glimpse of Jared, knowing the black of his tux will make him tough to spot, that in the long minutes that have elapsed, Jared could have easily gotten out of sight. 

But to the right he spots a tall figure, instantly familiar. He’s on the far side of the street a couple blocks up, making his way back toward the club. Relief sweeps through Jensen and he trots on an intercept course. But a hundred yards or more still separate them when Jensen sees a scene that plays out in pantomime. There’s a couple on the corner just ahead of Jared, arguing. Jared slows and gives them wide berth, that is, until the guy—a big dude, almost Jared’s height—slaps the girl, knocking her down. Jensen’s already on the run at that moment, but Jared, the fucking idiot, grabs the guy’s arm and hauls him around. Jensen can imagine the indignation in his voice as he confronts the man. 

Jensen’s at full sprint now, the leather of his dress shoes slapping on the concrete, pain shooting through his bad knee in protest, as he watches the asshole lash out. Jared takes a fist to the gut another across the face, stumbling back against the rough brick wall of the building. The girl on the ground shrieks, high-pitched, and takes off. Jensen’s instinct is to draw his weapon, but it’s too dark, too risky with Jared and his assailant at close quarters, and then it doesn’t matter because Jensen’s there. 

He barrels into the guy before he can get his hands on Jared again, using his momentum to carry them into the wall, the guy going head-first, Jensen giving two quick punches to the kidney before spinning to slam them both down on the ground, Jensen on top. He slugs the guy twice again, full force, this time in the jaw, to make sure he’s gonna stay down. He’s tempted to fucking keep whaling away until that face is hamburger, just for laying even a pinkie on Jared. But he reins himself in, scrambles to his feet and grabs Jared’s shoulder, dragging him just around the corner from the scene, tucking them into the temporary shelter of a grocery store’s front stoop. 

“You alright?” Fuck, Jared’s bleeding, a trickle from the corner of his mouth that glistens black in the distant streetlight illumination. Just a fat lip, looks like, but the sight of it makes Jensen’s stomach clench. He feels another red wave of anger at the guy who hit him and uses his sleeve to wipe the blood away as best he can.

“Fine.” 

“Cops?” Jensen asks. If Jared wants to press charges—

“I’ve already drawn enough attention to myself as it is.”

Jensen cups Jared’s jaw to look him over for any other injuries as Jared starts to babble.

"Don’t say it. I mean, I deserve it. I know I shouldn’t have walked out alone. I just turned down the street and I figured there wasn’t actually any _real_ danger but then this bastard was there—"

There’s warm, smooth-shaven skin against Jensen’s fingertips and Jared’s close enough he can feel his breath on his face as he continues to talk. Close and safe and apologizing and… shit, Jensen’s in trouble now.

Jared seems to sense a shift in the atmosphere. He stills and searches Jensen’s face with an expression like the world is ending. Then, "I’m sorry, Jensen. Truly."

"I know," he says simply, his thumb moving along Jared’s jaw of its own volition.

Then, as if to prove his point, Jensen leans up and kisses him.

Jared huffs against his lips in surprise before catching on and kissing him back, a coppery tang of his blood mixed with the liquor on his breath, and Jensen chases the taste of him underneath, the one that’s simply Jared himself. Their tongues move together, testing, learning, and Jensen would’ve stood here forever with nothing more than this, the soft give of Jared’s mouth against his always. Except a car picks that moment to speed by and the driver lays on the horn and the two of them leap apart. 

Jensen’s chest heaves and he doesn’t know what to do next, other than get Jared out of there before the police do come or Aldis sends someone to find them. Or before he pushes Jared back further into the shadows and throws himself at his feet. 

“We should get out of here,” Jared murmurs, looking around, running a hand through his hair. He looks as dazed as Jensen feels, and Jensen’s relieved that he doesn’t question, doesn’t force Jensen to explain himself here in the dark, on the street, with his knuckles bruised and his suit rumpled. 

“I parked a car with the club’s valet yesterday so we wouldn’t have to have the limo waiting around.” His voice sounds strange in his own ears. Tinny. Wrong. 

“Okay,” Jared says. “Okay. Lead the way.”

***

They pull into the driveway and Jensen cuts the engine.

Jared speaks the first words that have been said in the car since they left downtown. “Come on inside.”

He throws the door open and strides off, not even checking to see if Jensen’s following. 

He’s not. He’s sitting, gripping the steering wheel, contemplating getting the hell out of there, hitting the gas and driving as far as he can. Because he has no idea what to hope for, what to dread, what to do. Jared’s taste is still on his lips, the smell of his cologne lingers on Jensen’s clothes. Jared. Jesus, Jared.

But like the man said, courage is being scared to death but saddling up anyway. Jensen grabs the keys out of the ignition and heads into the house.

Once he starts moving, it’s as if a magnet is pulling him. He doesn’t stop at the kitchen or check out by the pool. Jensen knows where Jared is.

He’s in his room, standing at his dresser, undoing his cuff links, his black tie loose around his neck. The lights are low, only a line of tiny bulbs tucked behind the bulk of the huge bed’s headboard that cast a golden glow upward almost like candlelight.

Jensen stops in the doorway as Jared turns to him. “You kissed me. Even after what I admitted at the party. You kissed me.”

“I was—You—“ Jensen swipes a hand across his mouth and starts again. “I’ve been wanting to for a long, long time.”

“You have?” Jared look up through a long strand of hair that’s falling over his face and gives Jensen a shy little smile, as if he wasn’t paid millions of dollars so people could gaze at him. As if he wasn’t the most perfect thing Jensen had ever seen.

“Yeah.”

“I didn’t know. I mean, I wasn’t sure. You’re so fucking… inscrutable.” Suddenly Jared’s across the room and right up in his space. Jensen stumbles backward a step and he runs up against the doorframe.

“What is it?” A cloud crosses Jared’s face, doubt. He probably thinks Jensen’s having second thoughts, but that’s not it. It’s just…

“Look. I’m pretty sure I’m head over heels in love with you.” That came out easier than Jensen expected. The next part, not so much. “But, I’m—I’m not as, um, experienced in this kind of thing as you are.” For Jensen ‘Don’t ask, don’t tell’ equaled ‘keep it in your pants’ with the rare exception of a mutual handjob in the dark corner of a bar with some stranger or a quick fuck in the men’s room. “Whatever you’re used to, with other people, I’m not sure I—“ 

“Shut up,” Jared cut him off with a finger to his lips. “You’re so fucking adorable.”

Jensen’s not sure either inscrutable or adorable are what he’s aiming for, but he’ll take it, if it means Jared replacing his finger with that mouth of his, sweet and spicy. Jensen opens, and Jared’s tongue slips in, slowly, tenderly. Jensen tries to be careful, avoid pressing against the sore spot where Jared took the punch just an hour before, but Jared keeps chasing him, deepening the kiss, heedless. A tingling starts where their lips meet and cascades through Jensen down his spine and into the tips of his toes.

More and more and he finally has to pull back to inhale a shaky breath. “Oh god.”

“No, just Jared,” the smartass replies.

Jensen groans, because that’s exactly the kind of thing he’d have bet Jared would say. “You are the worst. The absolute worst.”

“So say the Emmy voters. But it doesn’t matter.” The teasing look is gone in a flash, replaced by one of such heat and fondness and desire, it almost hurts to look at. Jensen thinks it can’t possibly be for him. Jared’s voice is barely a whisper when he continues, “I have the most precious thing I could ever want, right here.” 

He puts his hand up to Jensen’s tie. “Can I?”

Jensen nods and Jared pulls, undoes the knot, lets the tie drop to the floor and pushes the coat off of Jensen’s shoulders. He carefully works the buttons of Jensen’s shirt, god, too fast, not fast enough, down, down, until he can pull the tails out of Jensen’s waistband. It hangs open, inviting, and Jared reaches in with the pads of his fingers, whisper light, roaming along Jensen’s ribs. Jensen’s lightheaded, the air he’s breathing feels honey-thick. 

“What do you want, Jensen?”

“I don’t know.”

Jared steps even closer, his hands at Jensen’s belt, his lips brushing the rim of Jensen’s ear, murmuring, “Yes, you do. Tell me what you _want_.”

“Your hands,” he says at last, feeling his cheeks flush, feeling stupid and tongue-tied. This bedroom talk stuff? He’s got no game. But his body’s almost vibrating with desire and he cannot resist giving Jared what he demands. “And your mouth. I want to spread you out on that bed.”

“What else?” There’s a whisper of cloth and Jared undoes the button on his fly.

“Jared—”

“What else? Close your eyes and tell me.”

He lets his head fall back against the wood. If he doesn’t look, he can’t see whether he’s screwing up or not. “I want to fuck you. I want to slick you up, get you wide open. Bury myself inside you with your legs wrapped around my waist, so deep inside you that you forget any other guy who’s ever had you.”

He feels Jared shiver, full body, and it’s good to have a little evidence that he’s not the only one feeling something.

“Bastard,” Jared says, nipping sharply at the curve of Jensen’s neck. “I think I could come just from the sound of your voice.”

Then suddenly he’s dropping to his knees, drawing Jensen’s pants and boxers down with him, past his thighs, so they pool at his feet. Jared works at his shoes then socks then nudges him step out so that he’s standing naked in the cool dim room, his cock stiff and bobbing. Jared sits up, running his hands up the stupid bow of his legs, thumbs tracing the tender skin on the insides of his calves and thighs. 

“I just want to taste you first, is that okay?” he says, raising up onto his knees so that his mouth is right there, open slightly in invitation, his lips puffy from fighting, from kissing. He looks up at Jensen and, after a second, places his hands on Jensen’s hips, gently urging him forward. Jensen shuffles closer, takes his dick in his hand, and guides it so just the tip rests on Jared’s lower lip.

Jared’s warm breath wafts up its length and he sees the tip of Jared’s tongue peek out to touch the slit and retreat. It sears him, teases him, lures him in. 

Jensen makes a strangled sound, one hand coming up to cup the side of Jared’s face, brushing his hair back. “Yeah?” he says.

Jared gives a little nod and tugs at his hips again, so Jensen goes ahead and leans in, letting the weight of his cock slide, sleek, wet, sinking deeper until it nudges up against the back of Jared’s throat. Jared takes it all, tightening the seal of his lips and letting his tongue curl and play. He pulls back slightly and bobs back down until his nose almost touches Jensen’s belly and it's the most amazing thing Jensen's ever felt. He screws his eyes shut and breathes shallowly through his mouth, certain he’s going to shoot off right then and there, before they’ve barely even started. Bright flashes light the insides of his lids as he struggles to hold on, not wanting to stop the magic that Jared is performing with his mouth, not wanting this to end too soon.

Jared must sense how close he already is by the way Jensen’s hand twists involuntarily in his hair. He pulls off, but Jensen gets little reprieve because he starts rubbing his cheek against Jensen’s spit-wet dick, smudging it all over his face and, fuck. Fuck. The glistening smears on Jared’s skin mark him as Jensen’s, make Jensen long to leave the same kind of marks inside of him. 

“You should take off your clothes,” Jensen says tightly, holding himself back from pushing Jared back onto the floor and fucking into him right there on the ground.

“Good idea.” Jared gets to his feet, quickly shedding his starched white shirt and slacks, never breaking his gaze from Jensen as he backs up toward the bed. Every inch of skin that is revealed is fascinating, intoxicating, the curves of his wide shoulders, the taut pattern of his abs, the exquisite cuts of muscle at his hips. 

He opens the drawer in the side table and tosses a bottle of what must be lube onto the mattress, then he stretches out and grabs a pillow, sliding it under him, so that his body is slightly elevated, presenting his ass to Jensen on a proverbial platter.

Jensen might be callow, but he doesn’t need a more explicit invitation than that.

He crawls up from the foot bed, situating himself between Jared’s outspread knees. He lays a hand on one thigh and feels the muscle jerk at his touch. He lets the other glide cautiously up Jared’s flank, feeling for tenderness from the hit he took to the torso. May that asshole burn in hell.

“Come ‘ere,” Jared says, eyes alight, and he reaches up to pull Jensen down to him. The full press of skin-on-skin is like an electric shock, Jensen’s hard length slotted tight up against Jared’s between them, their chests rubbing together, Jared’s mouth biting at his, sucking at the bottom lip, wet, deep kisses that have Jensen gasping for breath, aching for more. 

“Do you want me to prep myself, or do you want to do it?” Jared asks, and it takes Jensen’s brain a second to comprehend English, but once he does he has to pull himself back, rising up on his knees again. It’s tough to put distance between them, but it’s worth it. 

He takes a moment to imagine watching as Jared thrusts those long fingers inside himself, but as unbelievably hot as that idea is, Jensen is much more interested in participating, reaching into that heat himself. 

He fumbles with the lube until he manages to squirt some on his palm, a big, slippery dollop that he spreads around with his thumb and forefinger, trying to warm it up. 

“Jensen,” Jared orders. He’s breathless and when Jensen glances at him his color is high, cheeks flushed a deep rose. He takes his cock in hand and starts to stroke himself slowly.

“You’ve got to tell me—” Jensen mumbles, feeling ten times the fool, “—tell me if I do anything wrong.” He circles Jared’s hole with the tip of his finger, then pushes inside, all the time his gaze fixed on Jared’s face. 

His eyes flutter but don't close and he licks his lips unconsciously. "Not a damn thing wrong with that," he says. “Christ, Jensen.”

Jensen gains confidence after that. More lube, and two fingers, three, stretching, curling to find a spot that draws a raw, needy sound out of Jared. His other hand cups and tugs at Jared’s balls, and soon his hips are rising up to meet Jensen in short, violent jerks. His hand is back on his cock, stripping it faster now. Jensen has to get moving, wants to be inside him when it happens.

He plants one hand on the bed next to Jared’s head, holds himself barely above him, spreading his knees against Jared’s thighs to open them even wider. He tilts his hips until the thick head of his dick rests against Jared’s hole, shiny-wet with lube. But then he freezes. “Condom?”

“Fuck it,” Jared gasps, bringing his legs up around Jensen’s waist and locking his ankles against his lower back. “I’m clean. Fuck me, c’mon. Jensen, please.”

He sends up a prayer that he can last more than three strokes, and then he thrusts, plunging into Jared’s body. The hot, stiff length of Jensen’s shaft breaches him, drives deeper, farther and farther, and _Oh, God_ , Jared is tight. The hot grip of his body on Jensen’s cock so intense Jensen has to muffle a shout behind his gritted teeth as he seats himself all the way in. Jared is panting under him, body bent and vulnerable, sweating and flushed. He squeezes his eyes shut, knowing he’s not going to make it, already shivering with impending orgasm. To distract himself, he bends forward for one peaked, brown nipple and licks, then sucks it ruthlessly. Jared curses and his internal muscles clamp down on Jensen even harder, his arms coming up to clutch at Jensen’s shoulders. But Jensen keeps sucking and circling the nub with his tongue and fighting for the self-control to actually move.

When he does, the first tentative thrust wrings a moan from Jared. But the answering push back is enough to signal to Jensen that whatever he’s doing, Jared’s body thinks he’s doing something right. 

Jensen begins to rock in and out, his thrusts getting longer and harder as he loses inhibition. Jared curls to move with him in tandem. Jared’s cock rubs up and down the flat of Jensen’s abs as he shifts closer, trying to touch every inch of Jared, hear every sound as raw, needy cries pour out from his lips. He’s never heard anything like it. A crazy jag of sensation cuts through him like a knife. Jared’s writhing and twisting under him like a wild thing now, Jensen is losing his control rapidly, reaching towards the final thrust. Everything below his waist is throbbing and pulsing with an aching heat, but he has to wait, has to wait, has to wait.

Suddenly, fuck, he remembers to reach down. He wrap his own hand around Jared’s to help, to egg on. Grip tighter, move faster, Jared’s cock fever-hot. At last he feels the rush of Jared’s orgasm, the almost violent burst of Jared’s come that flows over their entwined fists, the sharp, earthy smell of it, the keen Jared gives at the peak of release, the softer sounds he makes as the waves of pleasure rolls through him.

Jared’s still clutching at him, with one hand, and legs, and the grip on his cock, and that’s where all of Jensen’s focus has narrowed, aware of nothing but the push-pull of fucking. 

And when he comes, it rocks him harder than anything he’s ever experienced. His vision goes hazy and he barely manages to brace himself, panting and spilling every last drop of his come into Jared's beautiful body.

Jensen lowers his head to Jared’s shoulder, eyes closed, astonished by every tremor as he slowly comes down. Jared’s ass is still plugged by Jensen’s dick, the thick, hot mess of his come trapped inside. Jared clenches and shivers, heaves a sigh, and Jensen would give all the world just to stay like this, together, connected.

But Jensen’s pretty sure Jared’s going to get uncomfortable soon, and manages to pull his hips back, gingerly sliding his cock out of Jared’s warmth. He rolls onto the empty space in the middle of the bed, while Jared groans and stretches his legs out from their strained position.

Jensen forces himself to turn his head. What does someone say after _that_?

“How do you feel about cuddling?” Jared asks, but doesn’t wait for an answer before he pulls Jensen into his arms. Jensen tenses at first, uncertain and awkward, but then just sort of melts into it, his head resting on Jared’s chest, the soft thrum of heartbeat against his cheek. He figures Jared hasn’t shot a shirtless scene in a while, because a patch of tiny hairs tickles his nose. He can’t help but reach one hand up to play with them. 

"So how do you want this to work?” Jared asks. “Going forward? Because we are going forward, right?" It starts out bossy, firm but by the time he gets to _right?_ , Jensen can hear his uncertainty, ringing soft but clear like a bell in the predawn darkness of the room.

And Jensen knows, with more certainty than he’s felt in a long time, that he does. He does want to go, go anywhere with Jared. And who the fuck knows if he’ll be any good at a relationship, but he swears to himself he’s going to do everything he can to keep Jared happy, not just keep him safe. "Rule number one: no keeping secrets."

Jensen didn’t even realize how tense Jared was, too, until he feels muscles relax, his whole body unclenching, as if he’s no longer preparing himself for a blow. That’s a good start right there. 

“Yes, definitely. No secrets. I’m going to do everything I can to make that up to you.” Jared says seriously. But then Jensen doesn’t even need to look up to hear the grin in his voice. “The First Rule of Jensen Club: You must talk about Jensen Club.”

"Rule number two," Jensen says, pinching him in the side and making Jared yelp, "I’m not going to be able to work for you anymore, if we’re—if we’re going forward." Together? Seeing each other? Boyfriends? Jesus, terminology sucks.

Jared’s still laughing, though. "No, see, the second rule of Jensen Club is also: let’s talk about Jensen Club." He tightens his arms around Jensen, pushing off and rolling them over until Jensen is pressed underneath him.

Jensen goes a little cross-eyed as Jared leans down, peppering his cheeks and lips and nose with dumb, sweet little kisses. "But rule number three is: whatever Jensen wants, that’s the rule."

“That’s not—“ 

“Hey,” Jared replies, his kisses turning to nips up Jensen’s jaw and over to his earlobe. “You just said I’m not the boss anymore. Well, if I’m not the boss, then I guess that means you are. Somebody’s got to give the orders.” 

“Based on my experience so far, I’m guessing any orders I give aren’t exactly going to be adhered to.” His hips hitch up involuntarily when Jared sucks at a sensitive spot under his ear.

“I don’t know,” Jared replies. “I’m pretty obedient with certain commands. Things like ‘harder.’” He grabs Jensen’s wrists and hauls his arms up over his head, pinning them to the pillow. The look on his face makes Jensen’s pulse trip double-time. 

“Or ‘more.’” Jared spreads his knees to straddle Jensen’s thighs, letting his hands slide back down Jensen’s arms until his palms are resting on Jensen’s chest. Both thumbs circle Jensen’s nipples, and Jensen bucks up even more frantically when Jared tweaks one sensitive peak with a fingernail. 

“Or ‘oh Jared, suck me dry.’” One hand moves lower to cup Jensen’s balls and skim lightly up and down his surprisingly perky cock and Jensen’s about to reach up and return the favor, but suddenly Jared pitches to the side and rolls off the bed. 

“I’m thinking about a shower,” he says nonchalantly over his shoulder as he strolls toward the bathroom. The light flips on and the faucets turn and Jensen simply lies there, trying to recover from whiplash. That is, until he hears Jared’s voice drift out over the sound of the water running. “Aren’t you gonna join me?”

Jensen huffs and shakes his head, but of course he heaves himself up and follows the summons. Jared’s not the boss anymore? Yeah, that’s clearly how this is going to work.

And if he thought protecting Jared was going to be a challenge, Jensen predicts that loving him is going to be even more unpredictable.

***

[ ](http://s37.photobucket.com/user/deirdre_c/media/341674_original_zps7ba1783b.jpg.html)

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a pinch-hit fic for the lovely akintay as part of the spn_j2_xmas exchange. I tried to hit on at least some of the things you asked for: a fic where there's some kind of power imbalance between them (boss/employer, college student/professor, or a fic where one of them is rich or famous, the other isn't...something like that), humor, banter, schmoop, h/c, porn, smart boys, cuddling, touching, kissing, one character being less experienced.
> 
> Extra-super-special thanks to my little trashcan, cherie_morte for her spectacular beta help and real estate advice. Also to dugindeep and fiercelynormal for championing bodyguard!Jensen.


End file.
